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“I awakened in a stateroom berth, too weak to lift my hands, with the taste of brandy in my mouth and the professor standing over me with a bottle in his hand.

“‘Ach, it is well,’ he said. ‘You will recover. You haf merely lost blood, but you did the right thing. You struck with your knife at the blood, and you killed the creature. I was right. Heart, brain, und all vital parts were in der stomach.’

“‘Where are we now?’ I asked, for I did not recognize the room.

“‘On board der steamer. When you got on your feet und staggered aft, I knew you had killed him, and gave you my assistance. But you fainted away. Then we were taken off. Und I haf two or three beautiful negatives, which I am printing. They will be a glorious contribution to der scientific world.’

“I was glad that I was alive, yet not alive enough to ask any more questions. But next day he showed me the photographs he had printed.”

“In Heaven’s name, what was it?” I asked excitedly, as the old artist paused to empty and refill his pipe.

“Nothing but a giant squid, or octopus. Except that it was bigger than any ever seen before, and invisible to the eye, of course. Did you ever read Hugo’s terrible story of Gilliat’s fight with a squid?”

I had, and nodded.

“Hugo’s imagination could not give him a creature–no matter how formidable–larger than one of four feet stretch. This one had three tentacles around me, two others gripped the port and starboard pin-rails, and three were gripping the stump of the mainmast. It had a reach of forty feet, I should think, comparing it with the beam of the craft.

“But there was one part of each picture, ill defined and missing. My knife and right hand were not shown. They were buried in a dark lump, which could be nothing but the blood from my veins. Unconscious, but still struggling, I had struck into the soft body of the monster, and struck true.”